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Originally posted on sciy.org by Ron Anastasia on Tue 30 Oct 2007 11:11 PM PDT  

Our beloved cat Pookie, a handsome male white long-hair that we adopted as a rescue kitty 7 years ago, has been very sick over the past few days. It started this past Friday. I had fed him one of his favorite canned cat foods, the chicken kind. He had eaten most of it when he suddenly started vomiting it all back. He's of course done that before, Kim always said he was expelling hairballs from licking his long hair. But this time he vomited again and again, I counted 5 times and then another dry heave when Kim came home from work that afternoon.

Kim immediately knew that Pookie was seriously ill, but I kept thinking that he probably had swallowed something (lots of little toys around for our new little kittie, Cindy Lou) and that he'd be ok. Kim slept on the couch in the living room with him that night, and Sascha (our beautiful Siamese that we adopted 5 years ago to keep Pookie company) joined him in their usual position, sleeping on top of Kim's big fluffy pink bathrobe that she spreads out for them on top of her body. They both love her so much. They're really our children (since we have decided not to have human ones), and Kim especially treats them like her kids — she even calls herself "Mom" and me "Dad."

Pookie is such a special kitty. He has a genteel dignity about him; a kind of kingly nobility. For example, he has graciously greeted Kim and/or me at the door every single day for the last seven years. I assume that he recognizes our footsteps coming down the hall, but maybe he's just telepathic, who knows? As we unlock the door, we often see him coming down the stairs from our mezzanine office where he sleeps during the day while we're gone. Or he beats us to the door and gracefully steps aside as we unlock it and swing it inward. Pookie says hello with a big "Meowwww" — he's so obviously happy to see us; it's really endearing.

Anyway, on Saturday we brought him to a nearby veterinary clinic and they did all kinds of tests. The results didn't look good. Both his heart and liver systems were in major breakdown. The vets recommended we bring him to a veterinary hospital on Sunday for a specialized exam by a feline cardiologist (I didn't know such creatures existed). After another whole round of tests, the very nice young woman doctor also said it didn't look good for Pookie, that he was showing all the signs of death from old age. We hadn't really thought of Pookie as old since he had always been so healthy, but when we thought about it, we realized that he was probably at least 5 years old when we got him, which means he's at least 12 years old now. And that converts to well over 60 years old for a human. And we do know that he had been through some very hard times before we got him, which may have set the stage for some the problems that are only now showing up.

So for the past few days, Kim and I have been totally focused on Pookie. He wouldn't eat or drink anything over the weekend so the vets put him on intravenous liquids to bring him out of what had quickly become severe dehydration. He was so weak, he could hardly open his eyes, and we thought we were losing him. That forced us to confront the real possibility that we'd have to "put him down," to prevent him from suffering. We've been researching the options and have found a local Vet who is certified to come to your home and administer 3 shots in a very human fashion. The first is a sedative that puts the kitty into a normal sleep, then two shots that are an overdose of an anesthetic to complete the euthanasia process.

We decided to bring him home on Sunday night so he could be in his own home to make his transition, and I've stayed with him full-time for the past two days, while Kim has gotten home as soon as she can from her work. As we watched Pookie deteriorate (which was driving Sascha emotionally nuts, she and Pookie had become such close friends), Kim and I have both been experiencing surprising depths of grief. It comes in waves of almost overwhelming sorrow, uncontrollably crying alone and then in each other's arms, that seem way out of proportion over an aging cat who has led a wonderful life with us in our little family for the past seven years. We've been looking this up on the net and have been amazed to discover that it's not that unusual, that the loss of a loved family pet has evoked a profound sense of loss for many people.

And Kim and I, in between our bouts of literally wailing, have come to realize what a profound gift Pookie is giving to us. We are realizing on an experiential level how very precious every moment of life is, especially our close family relationships and friends, and how important it is to set our priorities accordingly, to stop putting off till tomorrow, to not take anyone for granted, and most of all to fully express in each moment the love we feel for one another and our family and friends. Kim has always had a deep relationship with our pets, but I hadn't realized how deep my attachment to them has become. And now I love them all so much; I can hardly believe the change that has come over me. I told Kim today that I felt like my heart had been "blasted open." Thank you Pookie, you are such an amazing being.

And now a remarkable thing is happening. Pookie, against all medical odds, seems to be staging some kind of comeback. He's started eating and drinking again, small amounts at a time, and hasn't vomited anything up. And he seems to be slowly and incrementally recovering his strength. It may be the antibiotics we've been mixing with his food (he has a high white blood cell count, so he may have an infection, which the vets said could have been the causal agent for his sudden decline), or it may be just the abundance of love Kim and I have been showering upon him. We're trying not to be overly optimistic, since, according to all the specialists, the extent of his organ deterioration makes a full recovery unlikely and he could relapse at any moment.

We are grateful that we're having this time to be with him again and to say our goodbyes. He's even been greeting Kim at the door again when she comes home from work. And to see his beautiful eyes shining with that inner light again, well, what more can I say, we feel so blessed for every extra moment we're now having with our beloved Pookie. We will always remember him.

It somehow seems appropriate to close with today's quote from the Mother, Sri Aurobindo's colleague:



Love,

~ ronjon

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